Heart of Oak (another excerpt)

A bullet snatched a Marine backwards. Gamble felt a ball fan past his head. He turned just in time to see a Frenchman approach the nearest window of the barracks and lunge with a bayonet-tipped musket. Gamble brought his sword up and knocked the blade aside as the Frenchman, who had a gold front tooth, pulled the trigger. The musket spat angrily, and sent a gout of hot smoke into thin air. Gamble lunged and the heavy cutlass scraped against his assailants ribs. He let the man fall away onto one of the sleeping cots.
Somewhere a man was crying pitifully and another was gasping and breathing hoarsely like an exhausted animal. The goat was bleating madly and two of the horses had bolted free to entangle the group of French by the steps. A musket banged; it was a lighter, smaller bang, and Gamble knew it had been a carbine.
'Lieutenant Riding-Smyth!' he called out.
His little subaltern appeared immediately. 'Yes, sir?'
'Take ten men into the barracks and clear the rooms out.' Gamble didn't want any enemies threatening his rear as he advanced. 'Go in with the steel, and prod the bastards out.'
'Yes, sir!' Sam blanched, but disappeared with Corporal Tom MacKay's section.
Gamble looked at the remainder of his men. 'Advance! At the double!'
The French fired again and another Marine hit in the leg, fell against the well. He stood, hobbled a few steps, then had to steady himself on the masonry for support as bright blood spread on his breeches above the knee. A Frenchman, barefooted, tripped on the araar's roots and as he got up Corporal Forge shot him through the forehead, spattering blood and brain matter over the hanging washing. Marine William Marsh knocked an enemy to the ground, then stepped over his body to shoot dead a Frenchman who was aiming a pistol at Forge.
Gamble could sense that this fight was almost over, could feel it in his instincts, and his blood and bones. He knew they had won. Then he looked up to see Zeppi fighting desperately with the French sergeant. Gamble cursed. The damned fool! What the hell did he think he was doing?
'Take command, Archie!' he said to Powell. 'Press them hard! Zeppi!' he yelled with cupped hands to his mouth and ran through the powder-stink of the volleys.
Five Frenchmen had already given up and each one had thrown down his weapon in submission. Two were bent down, hands touching the ground. The officer still at the doorway pulled up a small pistol and trained it on Gamble as he surged through the smoke and pulled the trigger. The bullet smacked into the stonework of the barracks. The French officer cursed at his haste and saw that the Marines were too close so he closed the door and bolted it shut. Gamble jumped a body killed by the Marines volley, and flicked bayonets away with his sword as he approached the steps. He saw a Frenchman, naked to his waist, aim his musket, but had to trust that the bullet would not strike him. He heard the snap of the doghead and saw the muzzle flash, but the ball missed him as he ran on. A French artilleryman tried to kick Gamble in the face, but Gamble let the leg come forward and caught the boot and tugged hard so that the man fell backwards onto the steps. Gamble heard his head smack painfully on stone. Then man attempted to move but Gamble kicked him in the jaw for good measure, and the man slid down the steps grasping his face. A musket exploded and a bullet slashed against the top part of Gamble's leather boots as he ran forward.
'Zeppi!' Gamble saw Kennedy knock a Frenchman down and kept him prone with his pistol. 'Harry! I thought you were watching the bastard!'
'I'm sorry, sir,' Harry replied, 'he just ran ahead without warning.'
'Zeppi!'
The guide had managed to break free of Kennedy's watchful eye and, armed with a long knife, charged with the Marines when they stormed across gun emplacements. He watched as a Marine and a French soldier try to bayonet each other, the clash of blades rang like smiths hammers, and he ran up and plunged his knife into the Frenchman's neck.
'You Godless animal!' he hissed like a lit fuse.
Blood pulsed as he disengaged to stagger away and collapse on the steps. Zeppi, driven by hatred, pounced on the dying man, but an enemy appeared below him and a long French bayonet went through his side. Zeppi howled, collapsed and tumbled down the steps. He looked up to his enemy to see a bearded man with a bony face and knew death when he saw it.
And it was coming for the Frenchman.
The French sergeant raised his bayonet to finish off his prey, but then turned when he saw the Maltese man look past him. The British officer was running straight at him, cutlass gripped in two hands, and he swung it with a roar and with such force that the heavy blade cut through the sergeant's neck like a scythe reaping grass. The head toppled down the sand-strewn steps and the body crumpled to ooze like a broken wineskin.